At Christmas, I No More Desire A

Could Beauty, My Lord, Have Better Commerce Than With Honesty?

Thou Hast No Figures Nor No Fantasies Which Busy Care Draws In The Brains Of Men; Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound.

O All You Host Of Heaven! O Earth! What Else? And Shall I Couple Hell?

The Golden Age Is Before Us, Not Behind Us.

Greatness Knows Itself.